


Old Leather and Sea Air

by bella8876



Series: 30 days of Sterek drabbles [18]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mama Stilinski Feels, Mechanic Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:25:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella8876/pseuds/bella8876
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So I heard you and Boyd talking the other night about bikes and you mentioned that you used to work on them in New York and I was kind of hoping you could take a look.”  Stiles said nervously, biting his bottom lip as he pulled the sheet off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Leather and Sea Air

**Author's Note:**

> Day 18 of 30 days of Sterek
> 
> Prompt: "Where did you get that piece of junk?" 
> 
> \- I actually know next to nothing about baseball. That entire conversation was stolen directly from The West Wing (Episode: Red Mass). 
> 
> \- I know less about bikes than I know about baseball. Stiles's mom's bike is actually my friend Marvi's bike. I know nothing about it except that it's a bitch to find parts for. All of the mechanical stuff I pulled out of my ass. I'm not even sure a sproket's a real think. It sounds fake.

Derek heard Stiles coming long before he turned down the road to the Hale house. He really needed to replace his driveshaft u-joints. Derek would offer to do it for him, but Stiles would brush off the offer and just take it to the mechanic in town and end up paying out the ass. 

It would take him about five minutes to get there from the main road. And then, knowing Stiles, another two to four minutes sitting in his Jeep outside the house before psyching himself up to actually do whatever it was that brought him all the way out here at 7:00 on a Saturday morning. Which meant that Derek had plenty of time to read the sports section and finish his coffee.

Normally Derek would let Stiles come to him, give him a chance to work through whatever it was that he needed to get off his chest. But the Mets were pissing him off, his coffee had gone cold, and Stiles was still sitting outside debating on whether or not to get out of the car. Derek dumped his coffee in the sink and walked out to the front porch. 

Stiles had managed to make it out of the Jeep, but now he was just standing by the back, his hand hovering over the latch hesitantly. Derek leaned against the porch railing and sighed. 

“Why can’t the Mets throw strikes when they’ve got a three to one lead?” Derek asked. 

Stiles jumped a bit, but spun around to face Derek with enthusiasm. “Better yet, in a situation with a runner on first who’s a threat to score, and a batter at the plate who’s going to be intentionally passed, why not pitch out four times? You’re going to be walking a guy anyway. You’re going to be throwing four balls. Why not just—“

“Pitch out, catch the runner,” Derek finished for him. 

“Yes,” Stiles threw up his hands in frustration. “Exactly.” 

“You need a hand?” Derek nodded to whatever was under the sheet in the back of the Jeep. 

“Uh yeah, sure,” Stiles scratched at the back of his neck and pulled the trunk open. 

Derek saw the rear wheel of an old school bike poking out from under the blanket and grabbed it before Stiles could change his mind. The tire all but crumbled under his palm as he pulled. Stiles grabbed the front end and the two of them maneuvered it out of the Jeep. 

“So I heard you and Boyd talking the other night about bikes and you mentioned that you used to work on them in New York and I was kind of hoping you could take a look.” Stiles said nervously, biting his bottom lip as he pulled the sheet off. 

Derek stared at the bike. Then stared some more. Then tilted his head and stared from a slightly different angle. 

“It’s a ’74—“

“Honda cb450,” Derek finished for him, walking around the bike to take it all in. It was in pretty bad shape. Really really bad shape actually. Derek looked up to tell Stiles that it probably wasn’t worth it but he caught the hopeful look Stiles’s face and Derek just couldn’t do it. 

“I’ll check it over,” Derek said. “There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen.” Derek crouched down to get a closer look at it. 

“Cool, thanks,” Stiles smiled before stuffing his hands in his pockets and heading up the porch steps. 

Three cups of coffee later, Stiles was practically vibrating out of his skin when Derek walked back in. He’d taken off his Henley at some point and his wife beater was stained almost black with grease. Derek walked over to the sink to wash his hands and Stiles jumped up and started chewing on his thumb nail. 

“What’s the verdict?” Stiles asked nervously. 

“Where did you find that piece of junk?” Derek asked grabbing a handful of paper towels to dry his hands. “You didn’t pay actual money for it did you?” 

“Is it bad?” Stiles winced. 

Derek sighed and tossed the paper towels in the trash. “Both of the tires are rotten, the ignition needs a serious tune up, the clutch is shot. The cam chain is completely rusted through, the front sproket’s cracked, all the spark plugs need to be replaced, it probably needs a complete rewire honestly. I’d put good money on you needing a complete engine overhaul and I wouldn’t rule out a whole new transmission.” 

“First of all, I think you made 50% of those words up,” Stiles smiled nervously and Derek rolled his eyes. “Can you fix it?” Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged. “It’s gonna be a bitch to find parts for and they’re not gonna come cheap.” Derek looked Stiles in the eye. “Honestly it would cost less to buy a whole new bike.” 

Stiles was quiet for a second as he sat back down at the table and Derek poured himself another cup of coffee before sitting across from him. 

  
“It was my moms,” Stiles said softly and Derek froze. “It’s been sitting in the back of the garage since she got sick. We used to go for rides in the summer. I wasn’t really supposed to ride but mom said what dad didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She’d sit me in front of her and we’d ride down the coast. Sometimes when I think of her, I can’t remember the smell her perfume, but I remember the smell old leather and sea air.” 

“Stiles,” Derek croaked and Stiles looked up at him. 

“Can you fix it?” Stiles asked him again. 

Derek thought about how it would feel if he’d managed to salvage something of his mom’s from the fire. If he could have something tangible that he could look at and touch and _remember_. 

“Yeah,” Derek assured him. “I can fix it.” 

Stiles’s shoulders seemed to relax and he offered Derek a rare soft smile. “Thanks man. Just uh, we might have to do it in stages, you know as I get the money. Between classes and lab work, I can’t really take that many hours at the book store and after student loans there’s not much left in the discretionary fund.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek brushed him off. “I’ll take care of it.” 

“No,” Stiles shook his head. “I can’t ask you do that.” 

“I know,” Derek shrugged. “You never ask for anything,” his tone was almost annoyed when he said that and Stiles frowned at him. “You never let me—“ 

“What?” Stiles asked. 

“Just let me take care of this,” Derek asked him and Stiles eyes widened a bit because he heard the unspoken, _“Let me take care of you”_ in there.

“If you insist,” Stiles nodded and threw up his hands in surrender. “I could help, it would be nice to know my way around you know. You could teach me.” 

Derek smiled. “I can do that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm happy just to [tumble](http://www.bella8876.tumblr.com/) with you.


End file.
